


The Sound of Omens

by MagpieWords



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Acting, Aziraphale Has Feelings (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Costumes, Crack Treated Seriously, Crowley Has Feelings (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), First Kiss, Fluff, Happy Ending, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), Inspired by The Sound of Music, Kissing, Light Angst, Like very light angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Set in the 1980s, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), The Sound of Music References, They/Them Pronouns for Michael (Good Omens), and is very good at burying those feelings, assume this is an au where the apocalypse isn't scheduled, for the purpose of sneaking, kind of, snake sneaking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:35:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24379561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagpieWords/pseuds/MagpieWords
Summary: Heaven Presents: The six-thousand year anniversary edition of the Sound of Music."How do you do it? Be nice to the humans–” Before Crowley could protest, Aziraphale held up a hand. “No, I know, you’re not nice. But that’s the point! You act nice. How do you act?”If Aziraphale wanted to know the secrets of acting, he only had to ask how Crowley hadn’t properly kissed him in six thousand years.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 68
Collections: Break in Case of Emergency: Fluff and Love





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> How has the Heavenly Host been doing this musical since before humans existed? I don’t have an answer for that, but more importantly, I don’t need one. They’ve been doing this musical forever and you just need to accept that.
> 
> POV switches every chapter and I'll be posting two chapters a day for the next week until the story is completed. big thanks to ImpishTubist and cantakeroussass for cheering me on as i wrote this over the last few months. It's been beyond fun.

Aziraphale hadn’t noticed when the sound of the shop’s front bell became something that made him smile. It had been installed centuries ago because that was the done thing, but it quickly became a warning. Aziraphale didn’t like guests in the shop. Well, he did like one guest in the shop.

“Cro– oh, hello Gabriel.” The smile dropped from his face.

Gabriel didn’t even give him the courtesy of a hello, he just crossed around the checkout counter and pulled Aziraphale into a hug. Gabriel was not exactly a hugger, but he wasn’t exactly not a hugger. Yet before Aziraphale could question, let alone fantasize about protesting, Gabriel returned him to the floor.

He didn’t say anything though, just stood there beaming at Aziraphale.

“Um?”

“Oh, don’t be coy.” The ‘affectionate’ punch to the shoulder was anything but coy, and Aziraphale rubbed at the bruise that didn’t really need to start appearing on his tender skin. “I’m happy for you!”

“Terribly sorry,” Aziraphale couldn’t believe this moment could become worse than the impromptu hug. “Am I getting a commendation?”

“No, nothing so formal.” Gabriel paused, tilting his head in that way that always told the humans he wasn’t one of them. “You really don’t know?”

Aziraphale sighed, but that only seemed to make Gabriel giddy again.

“Yes! The heavenly messenger is back!” He took hold of Aziraphale’s hands and spun him around the room, just enough for Aziraphale to see out the front door’s stained glass window. Oh thank Someone, Crowley was here to save him. Surely Gabriel would sense the demonic energy and stop whatever this was.

“You, Principality Aziraphale, Garden of the Eastern Gate, are going to be Maria von Trapp.”

“Oh.” He watched Crowley echo the same syllable through the window.

“Oh?”

“No thank you.”

Gabriel frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m not interested.” There wasn’t much more to understand.

“But Aziraphale, it’s the spring musicale,” he whined like that means something to Aziraphale. The accent he threw on was almost identifiable, from something American and catchy that the youths liked, but Aziraphale couldn’t place it. But he could recognize it enough to know he can’t stand it.

“Yes, Gabriel, it’s just that -” He looked over to the window again, but Crowley had disappeared. So much for being saved. “It’s been six thousand years. Do we really have to do _Sound of Music_ every time?”

“Well, we did your _Importance of Being Earnest_ that one year, so…” He wasn’t going to let this go. The fact that the Wilde play was not a musical seemed lost on the archangel.

“Fine,” Aziraphale surrendered and was immediately rewarded with a heavy scriptbook and a schedule of rehearsals. “I know the show.” Gabriel never ceased to remind him that audience attendance to the production was mandatory for the entire Heavenly Host. 

“You’ve got to know more than just your lines, Aziraphale. You have to get into Maria’s psyche. Know her motivation. She’s the lead, after all. I like to write little notes in the margins of my scripts.”

“Oh,” Actually, that reminded him of something that was nearly more important than Aziraphale’s unfortunate casting. “Who’s Captain von Trapp?”


	2. Chapter 2

"Michael?” Crowley wasn’t anywhere near as drunk as he needed to be to hear this kind of information. And, despite being several bottles in, Aziraphale still wasn’t drunk enough to start accepting that this was his reality for the next six weeks.

“Yup,” he managed, filling his glass again.

“Sorry, let me be sure I've got this right, angel. You're going to fall in love and slow dance with this character, and this character is being played by.... Michael? The same Michael who I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen so much as bob their head to a tune, let alone hold a romantic embrace on stage?"

“Stop, Crowley, please. I already know how bad it is.”

Crowley didn’t bother pointing out that Aziraphale should just skip rehearsal. His memories of the Heavenly Host were blurred, but even a yet-to-fall angel wouldn’t dare to be so rebellious as to skip rehearsal.

“Honestly, my condolences.” He said. The words were sarcastic, but he hoped Aziraphale knew how much he meant them.

Aziraphale nodded, more or less accepting of his demise. He surrendered his glass and went to pull a long drink of wine straight from the bottle. Crowley forced himself to look away from the bob of his Adam’s apple. The more he thought about the role, though, the more he wondered if Aziraphale was maybe a good fit. A nun who wants to enjoy life outside the monastery? Made more sense for an angel who enjoyed sushi to take the part than one of the other pencil pushers.

Besides, Crowley hadn’t seen Aziraphale in a dress since the late 1700s. The gowns then had flowed like water off of his curves, it had been almost sinful. Aziraphale in a Grease-style poodle skirt, now that would have been something, but Maria’s attire was nothing to ignore.

Not that Crowley would get to see it, of course. Heaven would never let him back in.

“I’ve decided!” Aziraphale slammed down the now empty wine bottle, startling the demon nearly out of his chair.

When no decision was announced, Crowley managed a “what?” through the still heavy hazy of alcohol and memories of tulle.

“The musical is a drag, we both know that, but maybe it doesn’t have to be! I mean, when we first saw Ms. Andrews, she was a delight! Maybe I can bring that too! Delight, that is.”

“Musical might actually be more fun in drag,” Crowley mused.

“That’s not the point, dear boy. The point is, I’m going to really give it my all!” Even drunk, Aziraphale’s eyes had that spark to them. Crowley didn’t bother arguing with him when he was like this. There was little to deter a decided angel.

“Oh,” Aziraphale’s face fell and Crowley only just hid the stab of pain that caused him. “But I’m not much good at the, uh, you know, ‘stepping into a role’ thing. I mean, the arrangement is one thing, but I don’t do much improv. You did all that work with Hamlet anyway, and your assignments from below are mostly from the shadows. I give you almost all of my human-interaction blessings. How do you do it?”

“Do what?” Crowley was lost again, too distracted by Aziraphale’s face to understand his words.

“Be nice to the humans–” Before Crowley could protest, Aziraphale held up a hand. “No, I know, you’re not nice. But that’s the point! You act nice. How do you act?”

The answer almost tumbled out of his mouth, more automatic than the need to deny his own blessed ‘niceness’. It was easy. It felt, funny enough, nice for him to be nice. But nice shouldn’t feel nice for a demon, so Crowley drowned the words with a long swallow. The wine felt bitter on his tongue and he realized getting more drunk would only give that answer more voice. He could feel it fighting against his fangs as he tried to hold it inside.

Besides, if Aziraphale wanted to know the secrets of acting, he only had to ask how Crowley hadn’t properly kissed him in six thousand years.

Crowley sobered up so fast, he actually did fall out of his chair.

“Are you alright, dear boy?”

Crowley nodded. “Give me the script. Learn what you need to say first, then you can learn what you’re supposed to feel behind them.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for reference to nazis, but also if you've seen the sound of music, they're half of the plot.

Aziraphale took one last look at his bookshop before taking the doorknob in hand. He’d be back, he knew he would, but he wished going to Heaven didn’t feel like dying.

“Hey.” Crowley came out from behind the register and pulled the door back in from the tiny sliver Aziraphale had opened. He was wearing his sunglasses, but slid them down to truly look at Aziraphale. “First rehearsal is the easiest one. Gabriel wont expect anyone to be off book, you’ll probably just do a table read while he talks through some ideas.”

Aziraphale didn’t bother fighting down a smile. Crowley always knew what to say, never needed a script to speak off of. “Thank you.”

“Of course, angel.” Crowley let go of the door, heading back to his temporary position as shop clerk.

Aziraphale started to leave, but stopped again. “How do you– were you ever in the main cast before you, uh…” He didn’t know how to talk about the Fall.

Crowley looked up, glasses still slid too far down, letting Aziraphale see how unfocused his eyes were. He probably shouldn’t have asked. But then Crowley was sliding up his glasses and gave a smirk. “Nope. But I snuck into a few rehearsals . Watched Gabriel move from shitty background Nazi, to shitty boyfriend Nazi, to director.”

Aziraphale’s mouth twitched down. Going to rehearsal when he had to was already so distasteful, he felt like he needed some gelato to cleanse the idea of putting in the effort to sneak in willingly.

Crowley shrugged. “He’s only a sort of shitty director, and I’m pretty sure Nazis are a human concept.”

“If they weren’t, they were probably yours.” At least Aziraphale knew this script. Accuse the demons of everything bad in the world, repeat the dogma of how black and white everything was. And then Crowley would–

“I don’t know, angel, Gabe really loves uniformity and uniforms.”

–suggest that everything could be shades of gray. Aziraphale wished he could go off script to respond. Gabriel was probably drooling over the costumes for the show already.

“I’m not hearing this!” He denied, just like a good angel should. He opened the shop door all the way, the cheerful bell laughing at his retreat, and made his way across town.

He took a deep breath at the base of the divine elevator. He hoped Crowley was right, that the first rehearsal wouldn’t be too hard. If the first one wasn’t too bad, maybe the rest wouldn’t be too terrible.

“Right on time! Principality, you’re already shaping up to be a star!” Gabriel grinned as Aziraphale walked into the conference room that a celestial secretary directed him towards. Only Gabriel and Uriel were here, but Uriel wasn’t at the table. They had a cloth torso, draped in a few different fabrics.

“We’re not miracling the costumes?” Aziraphale asked and Uriel rolled their eyes.

“Of course we are. But I need to figure out what fabrics I want– I mean, we want first.”

“This really is your first time in the main cast,” Gabriel mused. He gestured to the chair next to him and Aziraphale fought back a grimace as he compiled. Gabriel put a hand on his shoulder and Aziraphale might actually do something worthy of a formal reprimand if the archangel got sticky fingers on his jacket.

Gabriel wouldn’t have sticky fingers. He didn’t eat sweets or enjoy coffee, angels didn’t do that sort of thing. But sometimes, Gabriel really seemed like he’d be the type to drink coffee that was mostly cream.

“Honestly, Zira– Can I call you Zira?”

“I prefer Aziraphale.”

Gabriel nodded, missing the iciness in Aziraphale’s voice. “Consummate professional, love it. Honestly Aziraphale, I think your fresh face approach to this role is going to really revive it. I’ve put a lot of trust in you. This is my first time directing since Ms. Andrews earned her pre-destined ticket up here, so I really want to raise the bar.”

Uriel dropped their tape measure. “Did she die?”

“Predestined, Uriel. She’s still working on that Christmas special. She won't be here for another sixty years, someone got reckless with blessings in ‘65.”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure if Uriel looked disappointed or relieved, but they picked up their supplies and went back to work.

“Anyway,” Gabriel continued, “do you think you can do that?”

Aziraphale sat up a little straighter and felt like he meant the smile he gave. “Actually, I think I can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your kind kudos and comments!! <3


	4. Chapter 4

“I absolutely cannot do this!”

“Angel please, you’ve said that for the past two weeks and you’ve been doing fine.” Crowley didn’t look up from the trashy teen magazine he was reading behind the counter. Barretts were going to be a thing and, with his hair about as long as it had been for the endless curls of the 1830s, when that handsome woman spent so many nights running her fingers along his scalp, Crowley was looking forward to trying them with his current look. Hairpins always fell out, but these little plastic things might really stick.

“Of course _I’m_ doing fine. But Michael is giving me nothing to work with!”

“Is that so?” He’d been saying that for two weeks too.

“They’re still not off book and we’re about to go into choreo. The bodice Uriel has for me is going to be impossible to dance in. I thought angels weren’t supposed to dance and– Crowley are you listening to me?”

“Always, angel.”

“Then I need you to sneak in.”

The magazine page ripped with how harshly Crowley slammed it onto the register counter. Aziraphale winced, probably praying the wood wouldn’t crack. “What?” The demon hissed.

“I knew you weren’t listening,” Aziraphale said, haughty in an unfortunately angelic way, “I need you to sneak into rehearsal like you used to.”

“Angel, I heard you. That’s not–”

Aziraphale kept pacing around the shop couch. “Maybe I’m not doing fine. Gabriel seems pleased with me, but the scenes are never up to standard. Maybe he’s being soft on me?” Crowley scoffed at that, but Aziraphale pushed on. “Either way, something is wrong and I don’t know what. I need you there to help me figure it out.”

“Aziraphale.” The angel stopped pacing, his back to Crowley. That made it easier to say this. He never wanted to say no to Aziraphale. “Think about what you’re asking me to do.”

Aziraphale turned and Crowley expected pity. Instead, his mouth had that mischievous lilt to it, his eyes sparkling with all the intelligence Crowley knew he hid behind dogma. He would run into a thousand churches when Aziraphale looked at him like that. “Dear boy, your bebop talks about the road to Hell being paved with good intentions? Well that divine escalator just takes a miracle or two to keep working, and you’ve been doing miracles in Heaven’s name for hundreds of years now.”

For a second, Crowley wanted to believe him. That Heaven could be hacked as simply as one of the automatic bank teller machines the humans were so fond of in the last two decades. The fleeting idea was enough to make Crowley’s scales shift under his skin with a strange sort of restlessness. That alone was enough of a reminder of what he was, not to mention the unhealing scars on his soles.

Before he could protest, Aziraphale was talking again. “I’d really appreciate you at least try. You don’t have to go with me, that’d be too suspicious, but close the shop a few minutes after I leave and do whatever you must to sneak up. I won't know you’re there, you wont make yourself known. And if it doesn’t work, you can just leave! I’ll meet you at the shop after.”

Crowley really never wanted to say no to Aziraphale. “Okay, I can try.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” Aziraphale smiled, like Crowley had surrendered to going out to pick up their takeaway order instead of agreeing to march to what could be his death.

He didn’t have to risk that much, though. He didn’t have to succeed, he reminded himself as he closed up the shop the following afternoon. He just had to try, that’s all Aziraphale had asked. If he was a proper demon about it, he could just lie and stay at the shop. Tell Aziraphale it didn’t work when he came back before dinner.

Lying to Aziraphale never felt nice though. And Crowley was a talented demon, but hardly a proper one.

The divine and infernal escalators being in the same building was always entertaining for Crowley. Now it was convenient– no other demons about the city would pay him much mind as he headed in this direction. But as he stood in front of both of them, he could feel the energies from both. The damp warmth of hell and the crispness of Heaven. The closer he got, the stronger they became. The damp was familiar, cloying at him but he was used to ignoring it. The chill of Heaven burned at his ankles the same way a harsh winter breeze could.

He probably wouldn’t discorporate on the spot, but it would be worse than the church. And honestly, he mused as he looked down at his all black attire, he was dressed for a stealth mission, but anyone in Heaven would clock him from a mile away. There weren’t many shadows a demon could linger in up there. That was the point of the place, Crowley supposed.

He stepped out of the office building, back onto the streets of London. It was only just the start of April, technically spring but early enough that the cool air out here could bite at him like the energy of Heaven did.

“No escaping you, is there?” He muttered in the vague direction of up. She’d told him to crawl on his belly for all eternity and even as he cheated around that, She never let him forget what he was. He was always going to be cold blooded.

Then again, winters were always easier as a snake. He usually felt bad abandoning Aziraphale for a month or two at a time; they’d been so close since his hundred year nap. But there was something dreadful about Aziraphale seeing what he really was, seeing behind the carefully kept human facade.

Aziraphale said he didn’t need to see Crowley in Heaven.

It was not a small miracle that no one noticed him, but when Crowley slithered into the building, he knew it was worth it. Hell was still damp, cloying and clawing at him to join them. But Heaven didn’t burn anymore. Heaven actually didn't do anything anymore.

Heaven felt empty.

That was worse than the blistering cold. The Fall hadn’t felt like gaining something, like damnation was a new burden to carry. No, the Fall had been the loss of something. A loss so strong, Crowley had lost the name for what it was. For what he had been.

Crowley flicked out his tongue, searching for something, anything up there that wasn’t just abandoned office space. The smell of Aziraphale, cologne older than the building itself, flooded his senses. Along with the sharp lemon scent of the other archangels, and the sweet bread notes of general celestial beings, but Crowley focused on Aziraphale. Sweet bread, too-human cologne, and what was probably ink and paper particulate buried into the fabric of his coat.

Crowley could try this.

He slithered up the railing of the escalator, scales only burnt by the friction of the strange rubber, but not by holy wrath. He snuck past the angel guarding the entrance, curling his body smaller and smaller around the legs of the front desk until he was hardly bigger than a garden snake. He slipped up into the celestial bones of the building, expanding back to a comfortable python size, and lazily lounged across the rafters above the theatre Aziraphale had described.

“No, no,” Gabriel had gone full beret and scarf and just seeing that almost gave Crowley away as he nearly laughed out of the ceiling. He held on though, and the archangel continued to pace in front of the stage, completely unaware of any demon other than his own creative hauntings. “This isn’t working. Do it again.”

“Gabriel, we’ve done this scene ten times today. I know it’s important, but so is the scene back on page–” Aziraphale talking back to his boss was an exciting thing to witness. Almost as exciting as seeing him in costume. The angel was right, Uriel hadn’t designed the bodice with Aziraphale’s rather ample bosom in mind, but with a few corrections, it would look incredibly fetching. 

“Oh, I’m sorry Principality, I must have missed the memo. Did they promote you to director?”

“Uh, no.”

“Then shut up and do what I tell you! This scene! Again! From the top!” Seeing him flinch as Gabriel shouted was decidedly less exciting. The angelic actors reset their positions on stage. It was towards the end of the musical, Captain von Trapp and Maria finally embracing their feelings for each other.

They started and stopped the scene at least three more times, Gabriel trying to express the human emotions at play without really understanding what human emotions were. “Aziraphale, no. Whatever you're doing isn’t– no. Maria leans towards the Captain like we all lean towards God. Does that make sense?”

It definitely didn’t, but Aziraphale nodded anyway, leaning physically forward a little and Gabriel sighed. “Can you please do something about your...” he waved a hand at Aziraphale’s general shape. “You’re only half-way committing to the role.”

“You said I didn’t have to look exactly like Ms. Andrews. You actually told me not to look exactly like her because–”

“We’re raising the bar, yes yes, but that means embodying what Heaven should aspire to! And, come on. I mean, look at Michael.” Gabriel paused as he considered Michael. The other archangel hadn’t changed their presentation at all, but at least Uriel had tailored their costume properly. Gabriel sighed. “We’ll work on that. Okay, everyone take five. Aziraphale, Michael, you’re done for today but stay and watch Soliel and Yztel do the gazebo scene again. You could learn something from them.”


	5. Chapter 5

Aziraphale huffed as he sat in the theatre chairs. They weren’t nearly as comfortable as the ones at the opera he and Crowley usually attended. And at least the Globe had standing room. He’d rather be standing in these kitten heels than sit with this bodice. Half-way committed, how dare Gabriel. Ms. Andrews wasn’t the size four she wore, she was the size seventeen of her personality!

Aziraphale didn’t like changing shape very much. Gender was a once every century or so type of affair, and he could compromise that for the arts. But he’d never really changed sizes. He didn’t think he wanted to. He liked being soft.

Maybe he should make his way across the pond and talk to Ms. Andrews himself the next time they had a day off. Aziraphale was sure she’d agree with him.

Gabriel was right about the gazebo scene though. Soliel and Yztel had such chemistry! Why couldn’t he and Michael have that?

By the time he trudged home, Aziraphale had returned to his usual appearance and opened the shop door to find Crowley annotating a trashy-looking romance novel. “That Yztel has a bright future ahead of her. She’s great.”

“I know,” Aziraphale lamented, collapsing with more drama than necessary onto the couch. “I just can’t do what she does!”

Crowley scoffed. “Angel, please. The problem is not you.”

“You don’t need to sugar coat it, dear.”

“I’m not.” He heard the chair slide lightly against the floor and looked up to see Crowley leaning over him. His flaming hair glowed like a parody of a halo with the shop lights behind it. “Aziraphale, I saw you. Julia would have been thrilled.”

“Really?” He didn’t bother to hide the fact that his eyes were watering. Crowley always said the nicest things and Aziraphale felt seconds away from saying just that, but Crowley always knew how to dodge a compliment even before it was spoken. He’d taken the script again, and was marking it up with the same pen he’d been writing in the romance novel with.

“Doubting yourself is only going to ruin your performance.” Crowley stepped out of view and Aziraphale sat up on the couch. “Come on, up.”

“Why?”

“Gabriel is so obsessed with that gazebo scene. They fell in love with each other long before that.”

“She says she fell in love with him the first time he blew the– oh goodness, the whistle. Michael always does it so loud.” Aziraphale slowly got to his feet, watching Crowley pace around the shop, charting something out.

“Exactly! There’s no way Maria falls in love with him right away, no matter what the script says.”

“No matter what– Crowley, all we have is the script. We can’t question the script.”

“You have to look between the lines, Aziraphale. Subtext.” He snapped his fingers and the coffee table and couch found they had much more interesting things to do in the extra space of the flat upstairs. “It’s a romantic line, love at first sight, but she actively doesn’t like him at first. She’s attracted to him, of course, I mean look at him. So Gabriel’s whole ‘lean towards’ nonsense isn’t completely useless. But she doesn’t know that yet. In the beginning, he’s her enemy. They’re on opposite sides, if the sides being decided are about the well being of the children. He thinks she’s too reckless, she thinks he’s heartless. And besides, she’s a nun, she isn’t supposed to fall in love.”

“Her love is with God.” Aziraphale nodded. Finally this ‘emotional arc’ thing, or whatever actors called it, was clicking into place. Then something else clicked into place. “Oh, speaking of, how did you manage to get back up there?”

Crowley paused his pacing. It was always strange to see him so still, even if it only lasted a second. “A demon never tells his secrets.”

Aziraphale could feel himself pouting, but didn’t bother to stop. He knew Crowley was weak to an angel’s wobbling lower lip. “You tell me all your secrets.”

“Well the secret to this blessed musical is not just song, it is also dance.”

“Oh Lord, the dance.” Of the few things that could distract him from Crowley’s wiles in entering Heaven, the hell that Aziraphale was enduring easily stole away his attention. “We’ve hardly started on the choreography but I know it’s going to be a nightmare.”

“Is it all the steps from the movie?”

“Yes, which we’ve never done before. Gabriel–”

“Heard that you learned the gavotte?” Crowley’s smirk almost made Aziraphale forget himself again. Goodness, the demon could poke fun at his outdated dancing, his fashionless clothing, anything, as long as Aziraphale saw that lopsided smile.

Instead of admitting any of that, or even daring to think it twice, he scoffed. “Gabriel wants to ‘raise the bar’ whatever that means. I just don’t know what he expects of Michael and I. I can’t do any other dance.”

“Well Michael might be hopeless,” Crowley started, pushing his glasses up into his hair as he trailed off, his gaze distracted by the script again.

When he didn’t say anything more, Aziraphale sighed, letting himself fall back to drape over one of the armchairs. “Too true, Michael and I are hopeless.”

“Not what I said.”

Aziraphale looked back at Crowley, perhaps too coyly through his lashes to be considered ‘angelic’, but if the demon was weak to a pout, then Aziraphale was practically smiting when he did this. It all balanced out. Crowley’s eyes were soft, painfully hopeful for only a split second before he smoothed out his expression. A too pure look for a demon, balancing out a too tempting angel. Aziraphale was sure the Almighty wouldn’t have any problems with that. She was all about balance, or fairness or justice, whatever it had been, last he’d heard from her.

“Alright.”

“Alright?”

“I can help you with the dance.”

Aziraphale got to his feet again, hands clapped together with barely restrained joy. But then Crowley held out a hand to him and Aziraphale felt his face flush. “Oh, here? In the bookshop?”

Crowley snapped his fingers and the armchair vanished to join the other pieces of furniture. The shop really was quite large when it was cleaned up.

“Well, I should warm up. Maybe get my–” Another snap and Aziraphale found himself standing in the delicate blue flats Maria wore for the dance scene.

“Are you sure you don’t want to tell me how you snuck into Heaven? I could be useful if you get caught.”

“You want the full outfit, angel?”

“No.” Aziraphale had lost the ability to look at Crowley before, but now even glancing in his direction felt impossible.

“Alright then.” With a final snap, the record player found itself with a new disk. The beginning notes of _The Laendler_ drifted through the shop. Crowley held out his hand once again and this time, Aziraphale took it. “It’s easier than it seems.”

Aziraphale had to question why he ever believed the words of a demon. The complicated dance was exactly as difficult as it seemed, but practicing here was certainly better than with the rest of the Heavenly Host sneering at him from the wings of the stage. Instead of Gabriel shouting directions at him, Crowley demonstrated the trickier parts of the dance. He certainly made them seem easy, his serpentine body nearly weightless with the movement, twirling them both around the shop floor.

“You’ll know you have the speed right when the skirt lifts itself just above your knees.”

“I don’t even want to think about that awful thing,” Aziraphale whined, trying not to stare at how flushed Crowley had become.

“Might help you dance better,” he was whispering now, hands on Aziraphale’s hips as he led him backwards. “Easier to move in than your waistcoat.”

The words on the tip of his tongue. If you want me out of my clothes so bad, just ask. Crowley had to be performing some kind of temptation on him, the way Aziraphale couldn’t help but lean into his gentle touch. Instead, he went back to the script. “So this dance, it’s when she realizes she’s in love, right?”

Crowley made a hum of an agreement. “And he loves her too.”

“Right, but the Baroness has to tell her. She has no idea he has feelings for her.”

“No idea,” Crowley echoed, must have been lost in the motion of the dance, and Aziraphale chuckled. Heaven help him, no demon should be so cute.

The dance had become strange though. Crowley had made the hard parts easy, but he’d somehow made the easiest steps so unsteady. When Maria and Captain Von Trapp were pressed together, when it had been him and Michael, it was uncomfortable, but Aziraphale could handle it. Now, the steps were the same but something was different. Crowley’s yellow eyes were unblinking, the eye contact that had been impossible before would now be a sin to break. He was hyper aware of the delicately cool touch of Crowley’s hand at the small of his back. He was really leading Aziraphale, unlike Michael who kept their hands just a fraction of a centimeter away from actually touching him.

Crowley and Aziraphale had touched before, when it was fashionable throughout history to greet a friend with a hug or a handshake. But in all their millennia of knowing each other, they had never touched like this.

“Right, but they don’t just suddenly go from enemies to lovers. When do they change their minds about each other?”

Crowley was so close to him, yet Aziraphale still couldn’t make out the words he said. Their movements slowed, and the song ended. As the record crackled on, Crowley didn’t say anything else. For one infinite moment, they simply stood there, entwined with each other, arms arching overhead like a canopy. Perhaps that’s why he couldn’t hear Crowley, they both seemed to have forgotten to pretend to breathe.

“What was that, dear?”

Crowley sucked in a breath very suddenly and pulled away.

“Crowley?”

“I have a thing.”

“What?”

“Got a temptation to– oh, no, not that. I have, um. Demon thing. You know.” Crowley hastily shoved his glasses over his eyes.

“No, Crowley, I don’t know.”

“I’ll see you at the next rehearsal.”

“But when do they change their minds–” The door to the shop slammed shut before Aziraphale could finish his question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now we're really getting into it folks. i rewrote this chapter so many times and im really pleased with how it turned out.


	6. Chapter 6

“Rome? What the fuck was that! Rome?? Fucking fuck!” Crowley slammed his fists against the steering wheel, speeding through London on his way to rehearsal again.

The Bentley skipped, as if it was a record player. “And another one down- down- down-”

“Okay, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t hit you. I just– Bless it. He asked when Maria and the Captain changed their minds about each other. Not about when we– when I–”

It certainly wasn’t a ‘we’, Crowley had to remind himself of that. Aziraphale trusted him, cared for him maybe, but he certainly didn’t love him. Not like how Crowley had loved him. 

It had only been a few days since he’d last seen Aziraphale but nothing had calmed his nerves. He yelled at the plants, actually tried a few temptations, drove around the city just for something to do, but all of that only seemed to wind him up more. The only catharsis would be going to rehearsal, despite how much he wanted to avoid this blessed musical. He almost wanted to avoid Aziraphale and take another hundred year nap.

Sliding up the escalator was feeling easier every time, and he’d nearly had the hallways of Heaven memorized as he curled around the rafters. The angels were practicing the dance today and Aziraphale seemed to have misplaced any of the confidence he’d earned from the last time Crowley saw him. Michael was as stiff as a board, barely daring to touch Aziraphale as they led him through the dance. And the dress certainly wasn’t helping either. Crowley didn’t know Uriel was thinking, aside from being a bit of a sadist. He bit back a hiss of laughter at just how blasphemous it felt to think of angels as into sadism.

Speaking of sadists, Gabriel held up a hand and the music cut out. “Did you hear that?”

The angels paused their attempt at dancing. Michael tilted their head and Crowley willed his own heart to stop beating. Aziraphale did the impossible and somehow became more tense. Crowley could practically hear the angel’s heart thundering away on the stage. “Perhaps one of the cherubs got into the quivers and arrows again?”

Gabriel rubbed at his temples. “Ugh, in Her name, let’s hope not. Start it again.”

Michael and Aziraphale barely hid their disappointment and Crowley was really amazed they were both chosen to be actors; neither of them could bury whatever emotion was crossing their mind in any given moment.

As they danced, rigid and dreadful, Crowley started working. He couldn’t possibly give any more advice about this scene, it would take something tangible to make it better. Minor miracles, just the hint of stitch here, a little extra fabric there, and Aziraphale relaxed into the dance with a properly tailored costume. The skirt flared as he twirled, flashing a sinful hint of skin just above his knees, and Crowley felt like he’d forged the stars into light all over again. Aziraphale was just as beautiful.

Gabriel didn’t call cut. He actually didn’t even say anything as the song faded away and the two actors looked at him, confused. The other actors must not be at rehearsal, so the scene had nowhere to go.

The stillness of the room broke as Gabriel stood. Crowley watched as Aziraphale outright flinched. He had to coil his tail around a support beam to fight down the urge to go down there and give the archangel what he deserved for such a sin.

At the first thunderous sound, Crowley nearly gave in to the temptation. But then the sound continued, developing a context. Gabriel was clapping.

“Brilliant! Absolutely amazing! I never imagined you could actually– I’m starstruck! If you two can do this on opening night, we’ll have really raised the bar!” 

Aziraphale looked near tears, trying to hide his joyous grin with a hand. Michael’s lips twitched upward.

“Okay, okay, get yourselves together. No need to be dramatic, Michael.” Gabriel continued, sitting back down and flipping through his script. “I thought we’d spend all day on that dance, so I’m not really sure what to do next… Let’s see if we can keep this energy going and do the gazebo.”

With a wave of Gabriel’s hand, the set changed behind them and the lights dimmed. The dance was already softly lit, but this scene was truly nighttime. The gazebo was brightened with fairy lights and Crowley was almost impressed. 

The energy from the dance certainly tapered off though. The two angels moved through the set, but Aziraphale had lost his grace from the dance. He was as stiff as Michael and Crowley felt himself tense too. He wasn’t sure why, this scene wasn’t particularly difficult, since singing was something that came to angels as easily as miracles did.

“You can’t marry someone when you’re in love with someone else,” Michael said and it was good that the lights were so dim, that this was the stage and not the screen. No one would believe Captain Von Trapp was in love with an expressionless face like that.

But they leaned in. Aziraphale should have too, but he was leaning away, heels creaking against the wood of the gazebo with the shifting pressure.

“Can you?” Michael asked, their voice tight instead of tender. Their fingers touched Aziraphale’s chin, pulling him closer, even as the angel resisted. Lean in, just lean a little close for a kiss that changes everything–

Aziraphale never leaned closer, but Crowley must have. That was his only guess, but much like his first Fall, he wasn’t completely sure what had caused this one. One moment he was in the rafters, the next he was crashing through the gazebo to center stage.

“Demon!” Michael shrieked, raising their boot to squish Crowley like a cockroach. And, much like a cockroach, Crowley moved faster than the archangel.

“Smite it!” Gabriel shouted, sending a bolt of something far too holy far too close to Crowley.

“I’ve got him!” He didn’t bother dodging as Aziraphale scooped him up. He wriggled, mostly for show, but knew this was the safest place he was going to be.

“How did it even get up here?” Gabriel got up on the stage but kept his distance as though Crowley might be contagious. He shot a glance at Michael, but they only shrugged. “What is your business here, demon?”

“What, you telling me this hot angel on angel action isn’t enough to get you off too?” Crowley hissed, letting venom drip off his tongue, ignoring how Aziraphale’s grip on him tightened. He was probably crossing a line, but it was worth it to watch Gabriel squirm.

“Ew. Zira, get rid of this thing.”

Crowley could feel Aziraphale channeling some sort of holy magic, and he could only hope it was to teleport him back to Earth, not smite him to Hell. Either way, he had no idea when he’d get another chance to dig into Gabriel. “If you think you can really ‘raise the bar’ on this blessed show by yelling at your actors, I have no doubt, Gabriel, that you will finally be an angel worthy of God’s undivided attention.”

The holy magic stuttered, Aziraphale’s grip almost painfully tight. Gabriel cocked his head. “You flatter me, serpent.”

“Oh, how clumsy of me. I meant to accuse you.”

With a gasp from Aziraphale, the magic was cast and Crowley found himself dropped onto the couch in the middle of the bookshop.


	7. Chapter 7

“Crowley! Crowley!” Aziraphale hated every second that he had to endure at rehearsal. He didn’t spare a thought at miracling himself home instead of calling a cab like he usually did, tearing into the bookshop to find his demon. “Oh God, please tell me I didn’t smite him.”

“You would never.”

Aziraphale bent down, finding a red bellied snake curled up in the small space beneath his couch. Goodness, Crowley had certainly seemed like a larger reptile when he’d last seen him like this. “So this was your secret.”

Crowley didn’t respond, just nodded his slender head. Aziraphale reached a hand under the couch and Crowley flinched back. “I’m not… Crowley, did I hurt you?”

“Nah.” The snake’s tongue flickered out, seemingly without thought, and then Crowley was curling up along his wrist. His scales were very smooth and, as Aziraphale pulled him out so they could both sit on the couch, he couldn’t help running a gentle finger along his spine.

“Thank you.”

“For falling from Heaven again?”

“Wh– no. Oh goodness, you fell? I thought you jumped.”

Crowley gave a quiet hiss, shaking slightly, before sliding off of Aziraphale’s wrist. He transformed, much like their first meeting on the wall, and then was sitting next to him on the couch. The little hisses had become soft laughter.

“Jumped?”

“Well, you saved me.” He was always doing that. Funny how both of the recent times involved Nazis. Did the floor of Heaven burn him like the floor of a church? “Crowley, I can’t have you risking yourself for me again.”

“I was fine.”

“You were not! Michael nearly stepped on you! I had to banish you! That wasn’t– I wasn’t fine with that.” Aziraphale felt his hands shake, just thinking about it. And thinking about, well, other things Crowley had said as Aziraphale held him in his grip. 

“You were the one who asked me to go up there.” Crowley was still halfway into a laugh. The shaking of Aziraphale’s hand creeped further up his arm.

“Crowley, I’m serious. Don’t come to rehearsal anymore.”

“I got caught once. It won't happen again.”

“You’re right it wont. In fact, don’t come to opening night either. I can’t bear to be responsible for this.”

“Angel–” The hurt on Crowley’s face was almost unbearable, sitting close enough on the couch that their thighs touched. Aziraphale had to stand. Had to face away. He fidgeted with the record player, disk of The Laendler still queued up. 

“I think it best if you leave. I have to practice and I can’t do that with you here as a… um… You know how you are.”

“Oh?” It was good he turned around when he did. Aziraphale didn’t want to see the face Crowley made with a tone like that. “And how am I, Aziraphale?” He heard footsteps, getting closer rather than moving towards the shop door. “A temptation?”

Aziraphale just shook his head. He couldn’t let himself think of Crowley like that.

“A bad demonic influence? How dare I, right? The nerve of me, helping you with your–”

“A distraction!” Aziraphale shouted as he turned around. That summed up Crowley neatly enough, and yet hardly encompassed anything at all. “You are a distraction, Crowley. Nothing more.”

Turning around was a mistake, but he forced himself to keep focused, stiff upper lip and all. Crowley’s expression was also stiff, even as it shifted in starts and stops.

The shock came first, unavoidable and unhidable without his glasses. Yellow eyes went wide even as pupils narrowed into serpentine slits. His mouth tightened into a thin little line, not ticked down, not revealing that much. He took a sharp breath, unnecessary and less helpful than was probably intended. It didn’t calm him, didn’t bring any relief. Then the eyes softened, minutely, a strange understanding that nearly made Aziraphale reach into the air between them to stuff the words he’d said back into his mouth. But he couldn’t do that. And he couldn’t stop the way that thin press of Crowley’s lips arched up into a twisted sneer.

No, Aziraphale wished it was sneer. Wished Crowley, for just a second, could be the demon he was supposed to be. Could be nasty and cruel. It’d be so much easier to throw him out if he was.

It wasn’t a sneer, but was twisted. A broken, contorted smile, unnatural with his soft eyes, despite how easily it nested itself onto Crowley’s face. A new pair of sunglasses miracled on to his face.

“Nothing more. Yeah, alright.” And without another word, he walked out the door. Aziraphale just watched it happen, like watching flood waters rise below an ark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they fight :(


	8. Chapter 8

Crowley wasn’t sure how he got home. One moment he was walking away from the bookshop, then he blinked and was opening his front door. Did he miracle himself here? He flicked out his tongue, but the air lacked the metallic tang of demonic magic.

Another blink and he was sprawled on his couch, staring at the ceiling. Another, and it was dark outside. Another, and the phone was ringing. He didn’t get up to answer.

They’d done this before, this time should feel no different. And, Crowley laughed into the empty room as he realized, this time wasn’t different at all. He always wound up like this when Aziraphale was the angel he was supposed to be. A few days lost was better than a suicide mission or a century asleep, he tried to be proud of that.

He found himself looking at a calendar, even though he couldn’t remember getting up from the couch. Opening night would be tomorrow. He’d missed hell week– or whatever the heavenly nomenclature would call the repeated performances to an empty theatre. Crowley was pretty sure they’d called it something else way back when, but remembering when he last watered the plants was a more important thing to consider now.

“What is this?” He hissed at a shivering fig leaf. “I told you ‘not one drooping branch’ and you give me two? Did you think I was kidding?” He was about to really tear into it, metaphorically or literally had yet to be decided upon, when the phone rang again. It was only a few steps away, a much easier distance to cover than the impossible journey that leaving the couch had been.

“Yes?”

“Crowley? It’s me.”

“You’re the only one with this number, angel, I know it’s you.”

“Oh.” The line was silent and Crowley wondered if Aziraphale hung up. 

They hadn’t done this before. When Aziraphale threw Crowley out, he was the one to go back. He brought chocolates or offered to buy dinner, because if he waited for Aziraphale to move at his own pace, millennia could go by. Millennia had gone by, and Crowley was loath to admit he’d gotten soft to these recent years when they didn’t.

Aziraphale reaching out to him was strange. “Are you still there, dear?”

“I am.” Yet he wasn’t sure what Aziraphale wanted from him. Crowley wasn’t sure what to offer him yet. Surely he wouldn’t have time to go to the Ritz between non-stop rehearsals.

“Would you be free this afternoon?”

“Would you?”

“Well, Gabriel wanted us to get some rest before the big show tomorrow and I…” More silence. Crowley was still lost.

“You?”

“Please don’t make me spell it out, Crowley.” He sounded cross again, at least that was something the demon could work with.

“I think you’re going to have to,” Crowley snapped, setting down his plant mister with a little more force than necessary – not like Aziraphale could see his threatrics through the phone. “Because the last thing spelled out was D-I-S-T-R-”

“Crowley!”

“I’m just saying.” He shrugged, faux causal and still just as pointless without an audience.

“And I’m just saying that I would appreciate your company. In the safety of my shop, of course.”

“Of course.” Crowley missed the ‘put upon sigh’ he was aiming for, sailing past that into ‘grateful relief’ domain. Fortunately still shy of ‘schoolgirl infatuation with the latest popstar’ levels of pathetic, so over all not a completely failed performance.

“So, I’ll see you in an hour?”

“Want me to pick up something from that place with the pound cake you like?”

“Oh, would you?”

Offer successfully made. “Of course. See you in an hour.” The line went dead and Crowley let himself slump into his throne for fifty minutes before speeding to the bakery.

“–and Michael still wont…” Aziraphale sighed, taking comfort in the pound cake. At least Crowley could do that if he wasn’t allowed at the show.

“Sounds like they aren’t really committed to the role.”

“Who knows,” he smiled around another forkful and Crowley bit down his own grin. “Maybe they’ll come around for the real thing.”

“Tomorrow, right? Full house for your first kiss.”

Aziraphale didn’t seem to notice his teasing. “The whole Host will be in the audience. And you,” Crowley half expected the fork wielded at him to burst into holy flames, “will not.”

Crowley must have pulled a face as Aziraphale continued, “I mean it, Crowley. Hiding in the rafters turned too dangerous, I can’t imagine you’d be able to hide your demonic essence against an entire crowd of angels.”

“Essence?” Crowley pulled at his shirt collar, sniffing unapologetically.

“No, it’s not that. It’s your,” Aziraphale gestured with the fork again, less pointed and more encompassing. “And I mean, the red and black doesn’t exactly help.”

Crowley shrugged, genuine causal this time. Aziraphale wasn’t wrong, but it wasn’t his ‘essence’ that gave him away the last time he was in Heaven; it was his voice and his balance. Maybe a different set of shoes would help – or rather, actual legs instead of being a snake.

Aziraphale kept talking, and usually he held Crowley’s attention, but an idea had taken root in his mind. Most of his commendations in Hell might be copied off of the humans, but Crowley was still the only demon with any ability to come up with good ideas.

By the time they were down to the last bite of pound cake, the idea had blossomed into a plan, and Crowley was able to pay attention again.

“Dear?” Though he tuned back into the conversation a second too late, finding that last bite held in front of his own face instead of Aziraphale’s. “Did you hear me?”

“One more time, angel?”

“I asked if you wanted the last bite. Fiendish to finish something so sweet.”

They’d done this before. Crowley wasn’t a Gluttony demon, but he could always mark ‘stealing the last bite’ as a minor sin in his reports, just as Aziraphale could claim sharing food as Temperance. He usually just slid his plate over. They hadn’t really discussed the idea beyond their time filling out reports together.

And now Aziraphale was holding the fork to Crowley’s lips.

He didn’t let himself think. Thinking would end this before it began. If he’d been focused, this never would have happened, so he couldn’t start focusing too hard now. He was tempted to close his eyes, really unfocus, but instead, he found himself holding Aziraphale’s gaze as he wrapped his lips around the offering.

It must have been a miracle that the angel’s cheeks weren’t turning pink. Everything else about Aziraphale’s stunned expression said he should be blushing. How interesting. That information needed to be savored later, far more decadent the cake was.

Crowley pulled off the fork slowly, lips still tight against the metal, sucking off every last crumb. The faint pop it made leaving his mouth could only be heard in a room as quiet as one filled with a lack of heartbeat or breath. 

He still hadn’t broken eye contact with Aziraphale. And surprisingly, Aziraphale hadn’t looked away yet either, transfixed somehow.

Just to see how far he could push, Crowley flicked his tongue out over his lip, catching any stray icing that he knew the cake didn’t have. And that was enough for Aziraphale to look away.

“Well, I best get some rest before the show.”

“You don’t sleep,” Crowley wasn’t looking away. He should, he knew he should, but he let himself be a little more demonic. Let himself stare. He could look away before he got caught.

Aziraphale tried again. “I have a few book orders to tend to.”

“You finally sold something? Should I fetch some champagne?”

“Oh, would you–” He looked back, teasing forgotten at the promise of a drink, but Crowley forgot to look away in time. He’d seen how Aziraphale smiled at him before, bright and brilliant, impossible to look at for more than a second really. Like the sun and just as warm. Now, it was like a flame, closer and hotter somehow, still tinged with the not-physically-there flush made by his own demonic wiles. Isn’t that what Aziraphale was always saying about his wiles? That they came back to damn him more often than any of his targets.

Crowley didn’t just look away, he had to stand up. Had to back away from the fire. “Right, best be off.”

“Um,” Aziraphale sucked in a breath, and such a human noise sounded obscene in the otherwise quiet room. “Yes. Will you swing by after the show?”

“Definitely. Break a leg!”

Crowley was already out the door, but he managed to hear Aziraphale’s confused shout, “There’s no need for threats!” before the door slammed behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading so far! Last two chapters go up tomorrow!


	9. Chapter 9

He shouldn’t have sent Crowley away. Sitting alone in his dressing room was unbearable. Logically, it’s not like Crowley could have been up here with him, but just the daydream of it all would have been nice. Of a serpent hidden between the unnecessary light bulbs lining this equally unnecessary mirror. Aziraphale knew what he looked like.

Even still, he toyed with a golden ringlet of hair. It wasn’t a photocopy of Ms. Andrews, but Gabriel either hadn’t noticed it through all the dress rehearsals or had come to accept it. Aziraphale winced as he thought about the dress rehearsals and pushed at his hair a little more until it was back in place.

They hadn’t been bad, per se, but they’d been far from good. Everything from the script was spoken, sure, but there was something beyond words missing from the show, he could feel it. Gabriel could too, kept saying he couldn’t name what was missing, but he’d know it when he felt it. Aziraphale could name it though. He looked at Michael and felt the absence of what was missing like an ache. And now all of Heaven was going to feel that absence.

Surely there had been worse performances of _The Sound of Music_ before. At least Michael had finally stopped stepping on his feet during the dance numbers. He still wasn’t sure if he was grateful or terrified they hadn’t practiced the kiss yet. Doing it live on stage could be disastrous. He doubted Michael had ever kissed someone and Aziraphale hadn’t in at least a few decades. Perhaps it was one of those skills humans thought of like riding a velocipede. But perhaps he should have practiced it with–

No. Of course he couldn’t have practiced with Crowley. He shouldn’t have even been dancing with Crowley; it made everything with Michael feel all the more awful.

There was a knock on his door, and Aziraphale forced his hands away from his hair. Oh dear, a look in the mirror showed him how much worse his fussing had made it. “Come in,” he said, biting back his misery.

Uriel opened the door only enough to stick their head in. “Are you decent?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Shame about nudity is really such a modern phenomena, Uriel, surely you haven’t fallen prey to that.”

“I haven’t.” They came into the room, arms draped with fabrics. “I just wanted to do it like the humans did.”

“We’re not putting on this dress like the humans do, are we?”

Uriel barked out a laugh, softer than Gabriel’s but not nearly as joyful as Crowley’s. “Don’t be stupid. But stand up, I want to see how the final version looks.”

Aziraphale did and Uriel snapped their fingers. “Huh,” they said, “I don’t remember those stitches.”

“Did you actually stitch anything?” Aziraphale muttered without thinking, trailing his fingers along the soft blue fabric at his cinched waist.

“No,” Uriel huffed. “I suppose it doesn’t matter though. Give me a twirl?”

Aziraphale twirled, arms outstretched like the hill really were filling his heart with music. The fabric danced with him, elegant and freeing, and he felt himself smile without meaning to. Uriel returned the smile and, for a moment, everything was nice.

“Great, now sit so I can fix your hair.” And everything immediately stopped being nice.

With enough hairspray to suffocate them both if either of them needed to breathe, Uriel worked Aziraphale's curls into a neat coif. As painful as each tug of the hairbrush had been, Aziraphale caught his reflection and had to admit it was almost worth the suffering.

But then Uriel summoned a palette of eyeshadow and a shallow dish of blush. “Oh, is that necessary?”

“Absolutely.” It was a simple miracle, but the coating over his face left Aziraphale feeling itchy. He reached a hand up instinctually, and Uriel immediately swatted it down. “If you smudge this eyeliner, I’ll find a reason for Maria to wear a corset.”

Aziraphale gasped, raising a hand to his lightly painted lips, but keeping it spare centimeters away. Oddly enough, Uriel laughed.

“You know, you’re a surprisingly good actor.”

“I am?” Aziraphale must have missed the jump in conversation.

They just shrugged, offering the reminder that “curtain goes up in five,” before leaving Aziraphale alone in the dressing room. The light bulbs along the mirror were still too bright, still too unnecessary like the color on his cheeks. But in their glow, he was pleased to find he looked the part. He wasn’t Ms. Andrews, yet he looked like Maria. Strangely enough, he felt like her too. Terrified, hopefully, and dangerously close to falling in love.

Standing from the vanity, he took a deep breath. The fabric of the dress moved with him, gentle yet form fitting, the faux worn texture reminding him of his favored waistcoat. The redesign on this really had been a blessing. With a final look to the mirror, he nodded at himself.

“Maria is going to let herself fall in love with Captain Von Trapp tonight. I am going to let myself fall in love.” Just for the stage, just for one night. Just to see how it felt.

He managed to make it backstage without tripping, despite how wobbly his legs felt. The kitten heels weren’t uncomfortable in the slightest, but everything felt tighter and more awkward the closer he got the actual theatre. Angels were flitting about, adjusting tights and veils. Michael was nowhere to be seen, but they usually didn’t want to spend much time with the rest of the cast. Aziraphale took another deep breath. He could kiss them, he was allowed to fall in love just for tonight.

In all honesty, he wasn’t worried about the first fifty minutes of the show. The Von Trapp children were adorable and the Abbey felt like a little slice of Heaven all on its own. Yet even as he landed every line, remembering every step, Aziraphale felt restless. Captain Von Trapp’s name had yet to even be mentioned, but already Aziraphale felt awash with the lack of that extra _something_. It was that same want of _something_ that took his mind away from the opening number. Not that he needed to give “The Sound of Music” much attention. Regardless of how much he hated the song, how much he wanted to throw Gabriel’s phone over the edge of the clouds to cascade downward to Hell every time ‘the hills are alive’ played as the archangel’s ringtone, Aziraphale knew every note by heart. That wasn’t anything special; all the angels knew this song. The twirling steps had come easy to him even before he started dance practice with Crowley.

Just thinking about the demon made his heart ache, the source of his want for something. As he swept across the stage, Aziraphale had the perfect chance to look out into the audience. It was like he could feel Crowley’s essence, just at the edge of his awareness, somewhere just beyond the stage. Or maybe Aziraphale was just hoping to be able to sense it. Foolishly wanting Crowley to disobey his request, to have rebelled against the angel’s orders and have shown up to opening night. That’s what demons do, they rebel. Aziraphale knew better though; that’s not what this particular demon did, not with this particular angel. Crowley’s willingness to follow Aziraphale’s every whim was wonderful for every second of six thousand years, except this one.

The opening song concluded and the audience cheered. They cheered for the nuns at the Abbey, they cheered for the Von Trapp children. It was hard not to let the praise go to his head, hollow as he knew it was. The Host was uproarious for any chance to hear their favorite songs, no matter the quality of the performance. Still, Aziraphale was starting to feel good about the show. The angels even cheered as Captain Von Trapp appeared, stupid whistle in hand, and for one strange moment, Aziraphale felt like cheering with them. Michael didn’t blow it too loud this time. They were almost flirting with it between their lips, though they couldn’t possibly be doing that intentionally. Aziraphale should get his mind away from sin, but oh, that must be what Maria was thinking too! And Aziraphale finally felt like he understood now - Captain Von Trapp was her enemy right now, yet Maria was already starting to fall for him. Was this the love at first sight humans always talked about?

The strange feeling didn’t fade throughout the show. It was almost distracting, lingering in the back of his mind even in scenes without Captain Von Trapp. He couldn’t even see Michael in the wings of the stage, not that Aziraphale was looking for them as he twirled around one of the Von Trapp children during the party scene. Michael must be there, though, they were due on stage any minute. It was impressive how they seemed to disappear into the shadows, then reappearing out of nowhere just in time for their lines. Aziraphale knew they were coming into this scene, had practiced it a thousand times, and yet Michael still managed to surprise him.

“Do allow me, will you?” Captain Von Trapp’s voice sounded just like the movie, amused in the fond way that Aziraphale never knew Michael to be. When he turned to face them, his dainty dress spinning with him, he was supposed to be surprised, confused, perhaps even a little distraught at Maria being asked to dance with her employer. But if Michael was changing up their performance, Aziraphale couldn’t be faulted for changing his too.

He didn’t have a line to say, but that was likely for the best, since he forgot any word from the hundreds of languages he’d read. All he could do was smile, surprised like he was supposed to be, but openly affectionate in a way that made a few angels in the front row swoon. They were just as enamored with Captain Von Trapp as Maria was.

Aziraphale’s smile faded as they danced, his brow furrowing in concentration that could be read as his character's concern. He and Michael had only gone through the whole dance a few times without Gabriel yelling at them to stop and restart after a misstep. He’d really rather not have the archangel uproot the entire production with a full house – but Gabriel wouldn’t really do that, probably.

Aziraphale was used to understepping or overstepping as necessary, to balancing out Michael’s stiff movement to give the dance any sort of life. As he overstepped this time, they under stepped. When Maria moved one way, Captain Von Trapp matched her. The dance was finally, _finally_ , smooth, like butter melting over a fresh baguette and making Aziraphale just as giddy as any baked good. He felt like he was flying, skirt twirling just above the knees like Crowley said. Oh, if only Crowley could have seen them like this, he’d know everything he’d risk had been worth it. Aziraphale would have to thank him when he got back to Earth.

He’d have to thank Michael too! Did they practice sometime between last night and today? They really made an effort for this show– or, oh God he hoped they didn’t make That Effort. Aziraphale’s eyes roamed down the lines of Captain Von Trapp’s uniform without really meaning to.

Even with his distraction, the dance didn’t dare to take even a half step out of the choreography. It might be too soon to say it, the show wasn’t even half over, but Aziraphale almost felt comfortable on stage. It was like dancing in the bookshop, safe and easy, even as his face was mere inches from Michael’s. He didn’t know if they’d ever been this close before.

Oh, the audience was another rush of delight, one he didn’t have a chance to taste in the bookshop. He could hear how invested they were, the dead silence of held breaths spoke volumes. It was like the audience could feel the tension between them and was echoing it back even louder. Tension and love yelling in Aziraphale’s ears and all he could do was dance. It was intoxicating, and when the dance broke, he nearly forgot his lines again.

“I don’t remember anymore,” he admitted, nearly shaking.

Michael could not stop staring at him. Gabriel was going to kill him, ruining such a perfect scene like this. Then the little Von Trapp girl was speaking and the scene carried on. The faint blush on Aziraphale’s face felt like it stained him for the rest of the production, all the way to the gazebo scene.

How did they get here so quickly? The story was nearly over, time was running out, and yet Aziraphale was wasting it getting lost in Michael’s sparkling green eyes. They were so close, even closer than during the dance, and Aziraphale felt frozen. He had to close the distance between them, no matter how far Michael had come from yesterday, they wouldn’t be able to do this; Aziraphale could sense their hesitation. More than anything else, though, Aziraphale wanted to kiss them. The show had gone so right and he didn’t want it to stop now.

He leaned up, delicate shoes flexing as he pushed forward to bring the two of them together in a proper kiss for the first time.

Aziraphale had kissed before, of course he had. It had been a fashionable greeting for centuries. Even when that tradition faded away, Aziraphale somehow always found himself in the social circles that kept the spirit of physical affection alive. He knew how to kiss; in fact, he’d been told he was quite good at it. He’d given polite pecks on the cheek in court, and snogged the daylights out of man for hours in the backroom of a dance hall, and everything in between. 

This kiss, staged as it was, felt unique. It was softer than Aziraphale expected. The other actor hesitated only for a moment, just as expected, before surprisingly kissing back. Just a brief press of lips would have been enough for the audience – more than enough if the gasps of delight from the crowd were anything to go by – but they were giving so much more than that. Nothing lewd, still perfectly in character, but with that came so much tenderness, so much regret for a nearly missed opportunity. Aziraphale nearly felt like weeping, with the kind of tears only understood by someone who had been given everything they thought was never going to be allowed.

The kiss wasn’t supposed to last this long, though. It couldn’t possibly be what Gabriel wanted. In the movie, the kiss was slow and drawn out, but no one ever expected Aziraphale and Michael to be able to do this. And yet time seemed like it needed to slow down, to give Maria and Captain Von Trapp a special little moment all for themselves. It was like they deserved it, even if they weren’t real.

Aziraphale couldn’t have hoped to figure out what was real and what wasn’t while in the middle of a kiss like that. And time finally gathered its own wits about itself to carry on and the moment passed before Aziraphale could truly pinpoint just what was so unique about this kiss. As he stared up at Michael, lashes fluttering like Maria’s did, he expected the magic of the moment to disappear with the kiss. Michael’s face had never made his heart flutter. But right now, in the twilight of the theatre and softness of the fairy lights, Michael was beautiful. Their eyes glowed with joy, even as they looked away to smooth the lines of their costume. They seemed genuinely happy, which felt impossible to believe and yet it was so.

Aziraphale gasped, a breath that wasn’t scripted but Maria must have needed it. She would have felt light headed after such a kiss, that must be why Aziraphale felt as intoxicated as he did on the faint smell of brimstone that could only come from the overheating of his heart. Or perhaps it was just the stage lights.

The rest of the show passed in a daze. Even the roar of their second standing ovation seemed distant. Aziraphale was delighted, of course, but so unfortunately unfocused. At least, he managed to put on a good show. For one night, everyone believed even someone like him could fall in love.


	10. Chapter 10

Even in the depths of the backstage, the roar of the crowd was deafening. A whole Host of angels had been given exactly what they wanted and the love they felt was nearly tangible, even for a demon.

Military boots were anything but quiet on the paint stained floor behind the theatre. They stomped away from the cheering with more force than necessary, before stopping in front of a closed closet door.

The contents of the closet hadn’t changed throughout the production: two mops, a set of unopened fabric markers, assorted power tools, and one lanky redhead. At some point, the pointless squirming and cursing must have stopped, but there was still a sharp, defiant hiss as light spilled into the closet. Long limbs had contorted themselves nearly into a pretzel, trying to break free of the tight rope around their scaly wrists and ankles. Legs had ended up on a shelf, while the bulk of the serpent was lying sideways facing the door. Throughout all of that, the gag keeping most of the noise at a reasonable volume hadn’t moved.

“Oi, no need for hissing.” The military boots of the Captain Von Trapp costume squeaked as their wearer bent down to remove the gag. “Barely two hours and you’re already more of a demon that I am.”

“You’ll pay for this, Crowley.” Slitted eyes squinted against the light, watering down the threat.

Crowley didn’t bother answering, simply grabbing the tied up corporation he usually wore and dragging them onto their feet. The contact was enough to switch their appearances back around, until the Archangel Michael was standing in the closet, rubbing at their eyes until the color went back to their normal heavenly blue.

“Ugh, I still feel slimy.” They rolled out their shoulders, ropes coming free from their wrists.

“Snakes aren’t slimy, Michael.” Crowley was already walking away and the archangel shook the bindings off their ankles before chasing after him. They raised their hand, the ozone scent of a smiting brewing just at the edges of the backstage room, and Crowley stopped walking. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“Give me one good reason not to destroy you for this injustice, demon.”

Crowley turned on his heels, stalking back towards Michael though the faint sizzle of snakeskin wasn’t nearly as satisfying of a sound as the metal and leather of the Von Trapp boots had been. “You lot have a few principalities on the miracle logs, yeah?”

“Yes?”

Crowley grinned and Michael had to fight back a shudder as the shadows in the room seemed to reach for them. “And what, dear Michael, will you tell them when they ask why you were smiting after such a successful show?”

“I don’t care about the show–”

“Oh, but they do.” It felt so good to watch Michale break eye contact, knowing Crowley was right. “And they don’t answer to you, do they?”

“How do you know this?”

“I damned humanity with knowledge, you think I don’t know a thing or two?”

Michael shrugged. “I know I don’t care about what a demon thinks.”

“I think you care about what the Host thinks. They can’t know their mighty General was bested by some slithering demon. I mean, what would Gabriel say?”

It took Michael a second, they were never the brightest of God’s stars, but eventually their mouth pressed into a thin line as they considered the threat. Crowley didn’t wait for them to make a decision. He turned back around and dashed out of the backstage area. The floor had nearly burned through his shoes, so as soon as he was out of sight, he transformed and slithered into the vents.

Heaven’s air ducts were partly for show, partly for Gabriel to have an excuse to order some poor angel to get in there and dust. The last angel who tried to point out that dust hadn’t existed up here since the universe was formed from cosmic ash was now one of more tolerable coffee fetchers Crowley encountered when he went to his own Head Offices. The vents were unnecessarily complex, but carried the chatter of the afterparty as a clear path for a demon to follow. 

“Aziraphale, you were amazing!”

Crowley had assumed the Host weren’t much for hugs, but Soliel had barreled into a very confused Aziraphale.

“Oh, uh, thank you!” His cheeks were red, or perhaps that was still the stage make up blush. He was still wearing his dress, though his hair was short again.

“No really,” Yztel chimed in, “I almost wished I wasn’t in the show so I could have just watched you.”

“Well you both did spectacular jobs, too,” Aziraphale tried to deflect.

Yztel gave a polite nod and Soliel grinned. “We were good, but everyone could feel the love you put into Maria.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to say something, closed it to reconsider, then repeated that process a few more times. Crowley had to bite his own elongated tongue to keep himself from laughing and getting caught again.

Since Crowley couldn’t save him, Michael decided to enter the room, which broke Aziraphale out of his floundering. “Michael!” He moved to them, but Michael froze. The entire room paused for a moment. The magic from the stage was gone. Crowley didn’t need to be able to feel love to know there was nothing there for the angels to sense anymore.

“Principality.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale seemed to sag and Crowley should have threatened Michael a little more before untying them. “Our performance was quite good. Thank you for being my, uh, partner.”

Michael’s posture didn’t change, they were still as stiff as ever. How anyone believed the being in that corporation could dance was beyond even Crowley’s imagination. But they did take an unnecessary breath and finally looked at Aziraphale. “I’m glad we put on a good show.”

They actually sounded sincere. It was almost nice.

Aziraphale, of course, was ready to leap with joy at any tiny scrap of affection from his superiors. He beamed and Crowley was worried his little snake heart would give out. He was slithering away, the sound of the party fading behind him. Though, Aziraphale would hardly think it was a party, without any snacks to nibble on while he chatted. Just as Crowley was turning down the vents to the escalator, he heard one last thing.

“Oh, Michael. Your eyes are blue now. What a lovely touch, changing their color for the show.”

Bless it. Michael was hardly an actor and they’d be as damned as Crowley was if they ever attempted improv. Crowley almost considered prayer as a way for Michael to keep their shared secret safe. Almost. If Aziraphale found out, it surely wouldn’t be the end of the world.

It was only when Crowley was on the streets in London again, not yet to the Bentley, that the adrenaline from threatening an archangel faded, leaving behind only singed feet and one thought. He stopped in his tracks. A man in a suit expensive enough to have bought his one way ticket to Hell bumped into him and cursed at Crowley, but Crowley couldn’t hear anything but that one thought. There was no rush of unnecessary blood in his ears, for his heart had the sensibility to stop beating, too busy trying to hold itself together at the weight of this one thought. His lungs didn’t bother gasping, but he’d gotten so used to a regular supply of oxygen that he felt a little dizzy as four simple words echoed in his mind.

He had kissed Aziraphale.

It wasn’t this body, wasn’t these lips, but it had still been him. He had kissed Aziraphale. And even the stage lights couldn’t outshine how brilliant that moment had been. His heart picked up where it left off, beating double time to make up for the lost moments. Six thousand years in the making and every second of agony had been worth it for that tiny taste of bliss. His entire soul, or whatever shredded remains were left of it, seemed to vibrate only to the tune of those four words.

He had kissed Aziraphale.

“Hey buddy, you doing alright?” Another man stopped in front of Crowley, suit nice but not with a damnation price tag.

Reality flooded back into Crowley’s senses, the faint taste of smog resting over his tongue where only the plush sensation of Aziraphale’s lips had been before. His eyes refocused on the person in front of him. A demon’s grin was a terrifying thing, and Crowley did feel badly for scaring a man who was only being kind. But if he didn’t express this feeling through his face, he’d probably burst out his wings. “I’m doing more alright than any damned soul could ever dream to be.”

The man laughed, clapping Crowley on the shoulder as he moved to walk past. “Well congratulations then.”

“Thank you!” Crowley shouted, the kind words stinging his throat like whiskey and leaving him just as intoxicated. He felt energetic in a way he hadn’t felt since the turn of the century and that energy pushed him to run. He nearly collided into the Bentley, who had the sense to open her doors before he could dent her. The race back to the bookshop was pointless – Aziraphale would be at that snack-less party for at least another hour – but Crowley felt like he’d discorporate if he went any slower than 100 kmph. He parked a few blocks further away than he needed to, just to stop at every bakery along the way. It was more than a few miracles to get all the treats carried safely, but Crowley would miracle the moon down flat into a bookmark if Aziraphale asked for it.

He laid it all out in the bookshop, but barely had time to put the petit fours on a tea plate before the bell above the door rang. “Sorry mate, we’re closed!”

“If you apologize to my customers, dear, they might come back later. Are you feeling alright?”

“Aziraphale!” Crowley spun around too fast, grinning too wide, and panic struck him the second he saw him. The dress was gone, any remains of the stage make up had vanished. The food behind him felt foolish with the production a distant memory. He gave an un-actor-worthy cough and schooled his expression. “Aziraphale.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale looked amused, which was better than whatever Crowley was afraid of. “Missed me that much?”

He’d really only been gone for half a day. They’d gone hundreds of years without seeing each other. This was stupid. “You, uh. Well I, I mean, the other angels don’t–” He moved aside, showcasing the food. “Figured the wrap party would be disappointing.”

“Oh!” He was still moving with Maria’s grace as he made his way to the assorted pastries. “This is exactly what I need after the show!”

Crowley summoned a bottle of wine, but didn’t bother with a glass as he dropped down on the couch. “Tell me about it.”

“Of course!” Aziraphale grabbed a few different items onto a napkin and joined Crowley on the couch. “The whole thing really went brilliantly!”

“Did it?” Crowley took another drink. The angel didn’t know. Maybe a half considered prayer counted and he should thank someone he had no intention of thanking, but Michael hadn’t managed to give them away.

Aziraphale had no idea that Crowley had kissed him.

And that was good. He had to keep telling himself that was good. If anything, wanting Aziraphale to know was bad. It was bad that he had kissed Aziraphale under false pretenses. It was bad that he wanted to kiss Aziraphale at all! Then again, he was a demon, he was supposed to be bad, but it never felt good. And that was… bad?

“Oh, I just don’t know what it was, Crowley!” The sound of his name brought Crowley back to the Aziraphale’s recounting of the show. “The performance just felt different tonight! There was an energy I’ve never felt before!”

“Having an audience will do that.”

“No, no, it wasn’t that.”

Crowley took a deep drink of the wine. Angels could sense love, but Crowley had been in love with Aziraphale for millennia. He couldn’t have sensed any different ‘energy’ than usual, right?

“It was like…” Aziraphale paused, taking a bite of mille-feuille as he tried to figure out what to say. For the first time ever, Crowley hoped he didn’t find what he was looking for. “Like it wasn’t Michael on the stage. It was really Captain Von Trapp. The being who danced with me on that stage, who kissed me, I…” He grinned, finding the final nails for Crowley’s coffin. “I loved him.”

Unnecessary as it may be, Crowley’s poor heart did not appreciate being stopped so many times in one twenty-four hour period. The way Aziraphale looked at him, all wide eyes and kindness, Crowley thought maybe he knew. That he could forgive Crowley for sneaking around in Heaven and kissing him without being truthful. That despite every demonic thing he did, Aziraphale still–

“Crowley, I think I’m an actor!”

Ah, that made more sense actually. Crowley’s heart was sluggish to start being again, a bit confused at the point of its existence when all it seemed good for was being broken. “Is that so?”

“Well, of course I don’t love Michael. I hardly even like them and they certainly don’t like me. I can’t imagine it’d be very pleasant to love someone who doesn’t love you back.”

Crowley drained the bottle of wine.

“Oh, miracle another one of those please, I was hoping to steal a sip.” Aziraphale hardly spared him a second glance, reaching for another delicate pastry.

The empty glass felt impossibly heavy in his hands and its content was even heavier in his stomach. His weak heart was strong enough to circulate the alcohol through him, making him almost light headed at the thought of saying no to his angel. Crowley wanted, only for a moment, to tell Aziraphale to miracle his own drinks. 

He leaned forward and placed the bottle on the table as it refilled. “Hope it won't be too much of a distraction,” his wine stained lips said for him.

It took him a moment to realize why he wasn’t nestled back in the comfort of the couch. The cause being Aziraphale’s hands, steady and warm grasping Crowley’s, keeping him close. The pastries had been forgotten about and those wide blue eyes were focused entirely on him. With the way Crowley had reached to place down the wine, they were almost as close as they had been in the gazebo, not that Aziraphale would know that.

He’d always known things the angel didn’t, kept secrets to keep him safe, but this felt different. This wasn’t Aziraphale burying his head in the sand in order to follow the party line. This wasn’t an apple dangling in his reach. He wasn’t keeping this secret for Aziraphale’s sake.

Guilt wasn’t an emotion demons should be capable of feeling.

“You know, the show tonight made me think about a lot of things.”

“Uh, yeah, I’m sure the co-eds at Guildhall would love to read your next–”

“Not just about acting. About love.”

Making eye contact with Aziraphale felt just as impossible as looking away. The angel had gripped his hands, but it was like he was holding Crowley’s face too. Crowley wished he was holding his face as much as he wished he was on the other side of the galaxy right now.

“When I was dancing with Michael tonight, it was lovely. But it would have been enchanting to dance with you.”

Crowley blinked sluggishly. That was supposed to mean something, surely, but he hadn’t the slightest clue what. “You danced with me, though.”

“Yes. And then I…” Aziraphale broke eye contact and Crowley was finally able to suck in a breath. His hands were still captive though, and Aziraphale hardly noticed Crowley tugging against them. “You are a distraction. But a good distraction.”

“You know how I feel about that word.” He was talking on automatic, following their old script, it was the only thing he could do.

“I do know that. I know you. I like knowing you. I like that you distract me.”

“Any time, angel,” he managed, but that didn’t seem to be what Aziraphale wanted. He huffed a sigh, and Crowley expected him to get up and start pacing, like the distraught heroines he always read about.

Instead, he tightened his grip on Crowley’s hands. “Must I spell it out for you, Crowley?”

“I think you’re going to have to.”

“You are so much more than a distraction, my dear. I can’t imagine not having you around, and I don’t want to have to imagine it. I didn’t smite you that afternoon, but I did hurt you. And I–”

“Don’t say it,” Crowley tugged at his hands a final time and Aziraphale let go.

“Oh,” Tears were brimming in Aziraphale’s eyes and, without thinking, Crowley cupped his face to wipe them away.

“You have nothing to apologize for. I’m the one who should be apologizing.”

“Crowley, that’s not–”

“No, I do, angel, really. You asked me not to do something, and I did it anyway. What I did is unforgivable.”

The tears receded as Aziraphale’s expression turned ever so slightly stern. “Well, you are a demon. I ask you not to do a lot of unforgivable things. I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific.”

“I lied to you.”

The confession seemed to echo in the long silence that followed. Aziraphale’s focus on him was rare, and always overwhelming, but never had Crowley wished to hide away from it. The angel’s expression was neutral in the way it was when he forgot to keep up the illusion of being human, and Crowley finally understood why so many of his co-workers had to begin conversations with “be not afraid.”

Crowley hadn’t been afraid of Aziraphale since Eden.

And then Aziraphale was laughing. “Is that all? I lie to you all the time.”

“This is totally different!” The laughter was an unsatisfying fill to the silence, so Crowley decided shouting was a good substitute. “I know when you’re lying. Aziraphale, this is a big deal!”

“Alright, alright.” New tears had fallen, of a completely different kind, and Aziraphale took a steadying breath. He folded his hands over his belly and grinned in a way that made Crowley certain it was not about to be ‘alright.’ “Confess your sins to me, my dear, and all will be forgiven.”

“Could you please take this seriously?”

“I just don’t see what the big deal is.”

“It was me! I was the one who kissed you!”

Aziraphale cocked his head. “When, dear? You’ll have to be more specific, we’ve kissed over three hundred times as it’s been in and out of fashion to do so.”

“Closer to four hundred, really.” Correcting Aziraphale was an old habit, but one Crowley wished he wasn’t falling into right at this moment.

“That’s a tad ambitious. Three hundred and forty-nine does not exactly round up.” 

“Oh please, like you don’t round up on every– Wait, why do you know that?”

“Because I like kissing you, Crowley! I like you!” It should have been a tender confession, but nothing was ever as it should be between them. Instead, Aziraphale threw his hands up and stood from the couch, finally giving in to the need to pace. He circled the table Crowley had decorated with snacks like a vulture. “That’s what I was trying to say before you went off about all this nonsense. Oh, are these lavender?”

Crowley just stared at him as he picked up a delicate macaron. It was fitting, he tried to rationalize, that Aziraphale would finally say something like that while shouting at him for being a nuisance. If there had been any shred of romance in the statement, Crowley would have assumed Aziraphale had been possessed.

Even still, Crowley felt frozen. For once, his heart was the only thing that didn’t stop beating. He didn’t bother trying to breathe, or even hear the moans Aziraphale made as he bit into the latest pastry; nothing could be heard above the pounding of his own blood in his ears. “Say that again?”

“These are almost better than the ones from Marquis Gerome?”

“Before that.”

“Right.” Aziraphale put the half finished treat down and now Crowley was sure his angel was possessed. He came back to the couch, sitting close enough to Crowley that their knees touched, and took his hands again. He was too serious, too real. This was worse than the words being causally shouted at him as they argued, this only made his heart race to the point of aching. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same, but I like you, Crowley. More than an angel should, if we’re being honest. More than just friends. I enjoy kissing you and I would have liked to have been kissing you on that stage, no matter how good Michael was. I shouldn’t have turned you away. It would have been nice for you to see the show.”

“More than friends?” He knew there was more to Aziraphale’s confession that he should focus on, but everything else got swallowed by the rush of his heart at the idea that Aziraphale actually liked him back.

“Oh Crowley, please. I know you can’t sense love like I can, but surely I’ve been pretty obvious the last few centuries?”

“Centuries?” There’s no way it could have been that long. Aziraphale regularly refused to even acknowledge they were friends, let alone ‘more than’. 

Even as painful as the eye contact was, Crowley was glad he got to see the faint blush dusting Aziraphale’s cheeks. “Ah, that is a long while to be pining, isn’t it.”

Crowley barked out a laugh. “Drop in the bucket compared to millennia, angel.”

“So,” he fidgeted with Crowley’s fingertips. “You too, then?”

“I thought you could sense love?” Crowley let himself squeeze Aziraphale’s hands, because maybe he could do that now. Maybe that was not bad, not good either, but okay to break the script and hold hands with his hereditary enemy. “You thought you were being obvious? I ran into a church for you!”

“I never sensed anything different from you, though! It’s always been the same since we met.” Realization dawned in those cloudless sky-blue eyes and Crowley felt himself blush this time. Perhaps Aziraphale wouldn’t notice, demons weren’t really supposed to blush. But then again, angels weren’t supposed to smile at demons like Aziraphale was. “That’s what you meant by millennia.”

Aziraphale squeezed his hands back and Crowley turned his head away. It was too tender, too soft for someone like him. “I mean, you just gave it away, consequences be damned, probably literally. What else was I supposed to do?”

One of the soft palms left his and Crowley almost sought to chase after it, but found it immediately, tilting his head back to Aziraphale’s gaze. “You’ve been very patient with me.”

“Why now though?” Questions, always questions. They ruined everything and yet he couldn’t stop asking them. “If you’ve felt this way for centuries, what’s different about now?”

Aziraphale grinned, just bastard enough to make looking at him ease the ache in Crowley’s heart, while starting a new ache all the same. Less tender, but some brilliantly familiar and wonderful. Crowley wanted to discover every secret expression Aziraphale could make. “Because now I’m an actor! I let myself fall in love with Michael, if only for a few hours. Now if you rejected me, I could mask my sadness so neither you nor Heaven would be any wiser.”

“Oh angel.” But Aziraphale moved a finger over Crowley’s lips, silencing him far more effectively than such a simple action should be able.

“And! If you felt the same, then Heaven wouldn’t smite us both for what is absolutely a violation of The Divine Conduct Handbook’s articles VII through IX.”

Crowley grinned against the warm digit over his mouth, pressing a kiss to it. “Clever angel.”

“I know.” Aziraphale let his finger trace the curve of Crowley’s mouth and the sensation was more intoxicating than the wine. Crowley chased it, even as Aziraphale pulled his hand away. “Now, if you’re amenable to it, I’d like to share our first kiss that isn’t currently a cultural nicety.”

It was worse than the burn of walking through a church to lean away from Aziraphale as he moved closer, but Crowley had to. “That’s, uh, actually what I was trying to say before you went off about this.”

“I don’t follow.” The crease between Aziraphale’s brows was so cute, Crowley ached to kiss it away. Maybe he would have gotten a chance to, if he hadn’t ruined all of this before it started.

He slumped a little bit, tension of their conversation draining out of him. Not much left to be worried about, when he already knew how this was going to go. “You told me not to go back to Heaven, but I did. I stole Michael’s corporation and I– I’m sorry, angel, I was the one who kissed you on that stage.”

Aziraphale’s hand was still warm in his own. He hadn’t recoiled yet, had yet to shout his hatred for Crowley and the breaking of his trust. A small, foolish part of Crowley hoped that maybe this wouldn’t be the end. Aziraphale would need time to heal, surely, but maybe they could still salvage this.

“You stole an archangel’s body?”

“That’s the part you’re taking issue with?”

“I mean, yes!” Aziraphale was still holding his hand, even as that line between his brows deepened. “They could have killed you, Crowley. This is exactly the kind of danger that I didn’t want to be worrying about on show night!”

“Well, they only threatened me after the show had wrapped.”

“Crowley!”

But even still, Aziraphale didn’t pull away. If anything, he was tightening his grip. That felt promising, but Crowley still needed to make Aziraphale understand. “The kiss though. False pretenses. I didn’t have your informed consent. Our first kiss wasn’t supposed to be like that.”

“For a demon, you’re quite the sap.” The word stung, purely on an instinctual level, even if Aziraphale’s tone was softer than down feathers. “If I give you my consent now, can we have our second kiss?”

“For an angel, you seem rather eager to kiss me.”

“Yes or no, Crowley.”

“Yes–” He could barely finish the word before Aziraphale’s lips were pushing against his. It was clumsy, hasty in a way a stage kiss wasn’t after weeks of rehearsal. As Crowley melted against him, that unplanned wonder made this second kiss better. It was real. Aziraphale knew who was kissing him and wanted it just as badly as Crowley did.

Eventually, he pulled back and his plush thumb wiped under Crowley’s eyes. What kind of demon cried from a kiss? “Are you alright, love?” 

Love? That burst another flood of emotions through Crowley, leaning back to scrub at his face. “Fine, angel. ‘M fine.”

“Well good.” Aziraphale straightened his bowtie and Crowley gave a watery laugh. “I could really use a drink after all those emotions. I might be an actor now, but even that was a bit much for me.”

Always faster than an angel, Crowley reached out to snatch away the bottle and tipped his head back with it. He drained as much as he could, miracling away what was left, until he pulled back with his lips stained a deep red. Now this was something a demon could do.

“If you want a taste,” he said, feeling more like himself since Aziraphale had walked into the shop, “come and get it.”

Aziraphale didn’t need to be told twice. They’d done this before. Crowley could always mark ‘tempted to intoxication’ as a minor sin in his reports, just as Aziraphalel could claim the Virtue of ‘waste not want not’. He usually just slid his glass over, but this was far more effective and needn’t be on either of their reports.

The third and fourth kiss were just as sweet as the first one on stage, and not just for the lingering wine on Crowley’s lips. The fifth kiss was interrupted as they fell off the couch together, and after that, it was impossible to count where one kiss ended and the next began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's that! i got waaaay too into the themes of the actual sound of music while researching for this and i say that having done musical theatre for the last two decade, so this was a ride. Thank you for reading!!


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